Luna
THIRTY-TWO
“Skate?” I pull back and look at him in confusion, wondering where he’s going with this. “Well, before you, I may not have followed hockey, but figure skating was a different story. It’s dancing on ice,” I grin. “I’m not doing crazy jumps or anything, but I can hold my own on a pair of ice skates.”
“Let’s see what you got then.” He pulls me up and tosses our empty food containers in the bag.
“Now? I don’t have skates.”
“There are always some extra pairs lying around from wives or lessons they give out. I’ll give you the tour while we look.”
He takes my hand again and threads his fingers with mine, leading me down the hall.
“This place is huge,” I say in awe as I peek into the rooms as we pass by.
“We spend most of our time here in this building, so they designed it to be a state-of-the-art training facility,” he says, matter-of-factly.
“In here, we’ve got all we need to work out and strength train,” he says, showing me the massive gym that holds every kind of machine possible before leading me to another room.
“This is where we do all of our recovery. Saunas, massages, hot/cold plunges…you name it, it’s probably in there,” he chuckles, opening another door. “And this is the locker room.”
“It’s even luxurious in here,” I laugh, seeing the deep, padded seating and huge screen TVs placed throughout.
“We spend a lot of time reviewing games and plays,” he says, leaning against the door frame and watching me.
“This is like my second home. They even have a huge room set up for players’ families.
Scar loves coming here, and it’s a way I can spend time with her on weeks when my schedule gets hectic. ”
“I love that,” I smile. “Does she skate too?”
“We’re working on that,” he chuckles, “but she seems to love it. Like you said, it’s dancing on ice,” he smirks.
“Exactly,” I beam.
“Let’s get you those skates,” he chuckles, pushing off the doorway and heading to an equipment room.
Ten minutes later, we are laced up and hitting the ice. He changed into a tee and sweats and even managed to find me an extra pair. They are big on me, but the drawstring works to keep them up. It’s much better than trying to skate in my jean skirt.
It takes me a minute to get my bearings since it’s been so long, but I finally find my ice legs.
“Just like riding a bike,” I smile, skating around him.
“I’m impressed,” he grins as I come to a stop in front of him. “But can you hit a puck?” He drops the black disc on the ice and hands me one of the hockey sticks he’s holding. “Let’s see what you got, little moon.”
His green eyes are lit with a challenge as he skates backwards until he reaches the net.
His large frame dominates the space, and you can tell he was made to stand in front of it.
This is his world, and he’s letting me in.
“What do I get if I get past you?” I ask, raising the stakes and making it more interesting.
“You won’t,” he laughs easily.
“Hmmm.” I bite my lip in concentration and weigh my odds. There’s no way in hell I’m getting past him. The only way I have a chance is to use what God gave me and distract him. “If I get past you, I get your next afternoon and evening off. I want a date…a real one, and I get to choose.”
His eyes spark with interest as his lip tugs at the corner. “Deal. And if I win?”
“You won’t,” I grin, throwing his confidence right back at him.
He chuckles softly and crouches down, holding his stick in his hands. “You get three shots.”
“No mask or gear?” I ask.
“Unless you have a wicked slap shot I don’t know about, I think I’ll be good,” he smirks.
“Suit yourself,” I shrug, removing his hoodie and tossing it aside. The cool air of the ice immediately hardens my nipples, making them impossible not to see through my thin, white crop top. The deep V pushes up my breasts, showing the barest hint of lace.
Taking the twistie from my wrist, I secure my hair into a high messy bun to get it out of the way, but also to show off the mark he left on my neck, which he obviously loves since he’s constantly looking at it.
His gaze darkens as he grips the stick harder and glances at my breasts on full display for him before dipping down to the sweats hanging low on my hips.
“I see playing fair isn’t in your vocabulary,” he says quietly.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” I say innocently, as he grunts in disapproval.
Moving the puck back and forth, I try to get a feel for it.
“I want an empty net practice shot first.”
“As you wish,” he replies, skating to the side of the net.
Lining it up, I take a swing, and it slides nicely into the net.
Grinning, I look over at him. “I did it.”
“I know,” he chuckles. “You’ve got a good swing.” He takes the puck out with the tip of his stick and slides it over to me. “Try again. This time, put more weight behind it.
I do what he says and smack it in harder this time.
“Nice,” he grins. “Where did you learn to swing like that?”
“I used to golf with my dad all the time,” I smile. “I guess my good swing carries onto the ice.”
“You continue to surprise me, little moon,” he murmurs, getting in front of the net. “Okay, hot stuff, let me have it.”
I weigh my angles before settling on the right corner. Trying my best not to let him read my movement, I swing with a little curve to it.
His stick easily blocks it, and I frown as he grins my way, sending the puck back to me.
“That’s one.”
“I can count,” I mumble, hearing him chuckle softly in the background.
The second one doesn’t go much better with another stick save.
“Last one, sweetheart,” he smirks. “You know, if you want, I can close my eyes.”
“Don’t you dare,” I mutter. “I want to win this fair and square.”
Or at least somewhat fair as an idea forms in my head.
Sliding the puck along the ice with my stick, I get close to the net and stop right in front of him. He eyes me warily and straightens when I get my body as close as I can without touching.
“It’s a shame there are rules about touching the goalie,” I say, fingering my necklace at my breasts.
His eyes dart down before they flick to mine. A smile tugs at his lips as he bends closer to me. “I don’t see any refs around here to stop you.”
My breath mingles with his as he fingers the waistband of my sweats, pulling me flush against him with one hook of his finger.
Just as our lips are about to meet, I kick the puck in with the edge of my skate, and it slides right by his distracted eyes.
“I believe I just scored,” I grin.
“What?” He whips his head around and sees the puck in his net. “Well played,” he laughs, running a hand through his hair. “I can’t believe I fell for that.”
“Looks like I get that date after all,” I smile.
“Looks like you do. The distraction was a nice touch.”
“I thought so,” I giggle. “You know…I did just score against the top NHL goalie in the league,” I grin, “and I’m thinking that deserves another reward. Not many people can say they scored on Cayden Blade.”
“True,” he says, cocking his head. “What did you have in mind?”
Lifting my shirt over my head, I toss it on the ice, leaving me in just my white lace bra. Heat flashes across his eyes, awakening my body from just one look. “I’m sure you can think of something.”
“I most definitely can think of something,” he growls, tossing his stick to the ground and pulling me to him. Lifting me, my stick clatters to the ground as my legs circle his waist. My fingers dive into his hair as my lips meet his.
He’s urgent and demanding as his tongue seeks mine. With a quick flip of his fingers, my bra comes undone, and he tosses it to the ground before his hands slide down my bare back again, pressing me harder against him.
“Hang on,” he barks out the order, skating us off the ice and walking us down the hall.
We enter the locker room again, and he heads straight to the corner before setting me on the padded bench. Kneeling, he takes my skates off at record speed before tossing his aside next to mine.
Pulling me back to him, his hands dive into my hair as we feed off of each other’s oxygen.
He’s hard against my stomach, and the need to feel him has me untying his sweats and freeing him from his boxer briefs. My hand circles around his swollen length and slides down the warm veins on his soft skin.
His groan vibrates against my lips as I stroke harder this time.
“Jesus, Luna,” he growls. “I can’t get enough of you.”
“Maybe you were never meant to,” I say softly.
“Maybe I never was,” he swallows before silencing me with a kiss.
His hands slide into my waistband easily, dropping my thong and sweats to the floor. I kick out of them as his clothes come next.
Backing me up, the back of my calves hit the bench, and he smiles against my lips.
“Turn around,” he whispers.
I turn, and his body presses against mine.
#40 Blade is in bold letters above the shelf.
“It’s your locker,” I smile, feeling his breath on my ear.
“I’ve sat in this very spot for weeks trying to get you out of my head.” He kisses my neck, and my head falls back on his shoulder. “You’ve managed to seep through every barrier I thought I could control. Until I finally realized something.”
The back of his knuckles grazes the side of my breast, and I close my eyes as desire rushes through my body.
“What did you realize?” I manage with a whisper.
“That it’s useless to fight it. That…I don’t want to fight it anymore.”
He buries his face in my neck, and I sink my fingers into his hair.
“I don’t want casual anymore, little moon.”
Turning quickly, I search his eyes, looking for anything to dispute what he’s telling me. “What are you saying?”
“I’m saying,” he smiles, “that either way I was going to let you win tonight. I want that date…I want more than one date, actually.” Reaching out, he touches a curl that has escaped my bun and rubs it between his fingers.
“I guess what I’m trying to say is I want to be more than just your booty call. ”
“You were never just my booty call,” I smile, shaking my head. “You’ve always been so much more.”
“Yeah, I’m realizing really quickly that you’ve been more from the start.”
Circling my arms around his neck, my heart beats against his, and something tells me I’ve finally found my home. Bending, he kisses me softly at first before our hands get desperate for a touch.
“I want you right here,” he groans, squeezing my ass and pressing himself hard into my stomach.
Turning us around, he sits in front of his locker, bringing me down so I’m straddling him.
A moan escapes as I settle down on his thighs, rubbing slowly down the length of him.
“Fuck,” he hisses, throwing his head back. His muscles strain against the movement as I slide against him again, coating him with my arousal.
Gripping my waist, he guides me harder against him until I’m on the brink of shattering before he lets off.
“Cayden,” I whimper, digging my fingers into his hair as he pulls my nipple into his mouth. His hands fondle my breasts now, squeezing and pinching my sensitive buds. My core is flooded with pleasure as I begin to rock against him. “I’m not going to last much longer,” I rasp.
“Then we'd better get the first one out of the way,” he grins against me, grabbing my ass and locking me to him as he lets me use his body to get off.
His fingers dig into my flesh as I rub myself shamelessly against him. The feel of him hard and rigid against me as I feel each vein rub against my swollen clit has me cumming hard and fast.
“Oh God,” I moan as my walls contract, and my orgasm skyrockets through my body. My thighs tremble as I use his body until every last wave is felt.
I’m panting against his chest as his lips find my ear.
“I’m clean. Do you trust me?”
“I trust you,” I whisper. “I have an IUD, and I’m clean too. I…I haven’t been with anyone in over three years,” I add softly.
“Me either,” he admits quietly. “You’re the first one since…” He swallows hard, and I place my hand over his heart to comfort him. “I haven’t felt alive until you,” he breathes.
I blink back the tears, and his eyes furrow with torment.
“Fuck, don’t cry,” he whispers hoarsely. “The last thing I want is your pity.” He turns his head, unable to look at me. I gently touch his chin and bring him back.
“It’s not pity,” I say, shaking my head. “I’m just happy. You make me happy.”
Leaning down, I kiss his lips, wanting to bring him back to me.
To make him feel every bit as happy as I’m feeling.
His hands cling to my back as they wander down my skin. They become more urgent as he deepens the kiss, and our tongues dance together.
When I lift on my knees and feel his tip press into me, his hands grip my waist.
“Why do I get the feeling this is going to ruin me?” He asks, his face buried in my neck.
“I’m pretty sure it’s going to ruin us both,” I whisper, feeling him nudge in slightly more. “But I’d rather be ruined by you a thousand times over if it means I get to keep you in the end.”